


Thursday Customs

by Clarisse (transnymphtaire)



Series: Advent Calendar 2016 [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe, Attempted Murder, Fluff, Happy Ending, Immortality, M/M, Mentions of Murder, Mentions of War, Soulmates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-01
Updated: 2016-12-01
Packaged: 2018-09-03 13:28:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,926
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8715724
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/transnymphtaire/pseuds/Clarisse
Summary: In a world where you stop aging at 18, and start again when you meet your soulmate, there's one man that remains immortal.
Then there's a man that visits every Thursday.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Happy Holidays!
> 
> If you follow me on tumblr, you'll know that I've mentioned a secret project. Well, this is it! Or the beginning of it.  
> I present to you... Day 1 in Clarisse's Harrymort/Tomarry Soulmate AU Advent Calendar 2016!
> 
> And a big thanks to littwink for being my beta for this <33

The Potter family owned a quaint two-story shop which sold books, flowers, and baked goods. The first floor was home foremost to the bakery, with comfortable but mismatching armchairs and sofas placed around tables of all shapes for customers to use. In contrast, the second floor was a labyrinth of bookshelves and flowers, the latter in everything from antique vases to broken pots hanging from the ceiling. Books from the second floor found their way into nooks everywhere, and there was a bookshelf by the front door which was designated for book exchanges.

It was perhaps not much, but it was home for the Potter family, who lived comfortably on the hidden third floor of the building thanks to the money inherited by Mr. Potter from his departed father.

Mister and Missus Potter had an only child named Harry, who was known as a quiet boy. Since the age of 10, he managed the second floor of the shop. While his parents took care of customers and made sure that the bakery was in stock, he could be found between the shelves arranging books or nurturing flowers.

Every Thursday, for as long as Harry could remember, the same customer found him between the shelves and told terrifying stories of wars past. Slowly but surely, as no child is entertained by the graphic terrors of war at first, those moments became the highlight of his week.

As it happened, it was Thursday once more.

* * *

“Good afternoon, Harry.”

The man greeted him, although the scent of coffee had long since announced his presence. Harry looked up from the pile of books in his arms, which he was busy re-shelving after the morning crowd had brought them downstairs.

“Hey. You’re late.” he mumbled, before returning to his books. “What story do you have for me today?”

“Well… have I told you about Lord Voldemort yet?”

Harry’s head snapped up.  
“You have stories about _Voldemort_? And you haven’t told me until now?!”

The man smiled, charming and placating all at once.  
“There is more to wars than one man, and there are many wars older than him. There are many wars he has not fought in. He is British after all, and it’s our wars that he fights in.”

“He fought in the Egyptian war just recently. I saw the footage; he was covered in blood as he walked off towards the great pyramids. The battlefield behind him was littered in corpses.”

“I did not say that he doesn’t fight for himself as well. Are you not too young to see war footage?”

“What did he have to do in Egypt to start with?” Harry asked, as always curious about the infamous war legend. “And if I’m not too young for you to tell me about war, then I’m not too young for war footage.”

“That’s not the story that I was planning on telling you. Would you not much rather hear about Voldemort’s first war?” Marvolo asked, not continuing the other line of conversation.

Harry almost dropped the book that he was about to put back on the shelf. Voldemort’s _first_ war? There were not many alive from that time that could tell the story; Voldemort sought immortality and murdered his soulmates before they turned 18 so that he could reach it.

“Are you really that old, Marvolo?” Harry teased. He knew that Marvolo had yet to physically age past 18, but he had never put much thought in how old the other actually was. As he had yet to turn 18 himself, and as his parents were soulmates and therefore aging normally, the whole concept of being stuck in time seemed abstract to him.

“Older than you, certainly. Shall I tell the story or not?”

“Okay. Tell me about Voldemort’s first war.”

* * *

Tom Marvolo Riddle was born in an age before the Victorian Era, to a woman who had convinced herself that she was aging after meeting and seducing the rich lord that was his father. Her fragile mind could not handle the truth after the man left her, and as such drowned herself after her son was born. Tom was sent to a Foundling Hospital, and grew up with stories of soulmates aging together.

He never understood the charm in it when you were immortal without your soulmate.

At the age of 20, it was blatantly clear that Tom had yet to meet his soulmate and that he - as a bastard child and an orphan - had no chance to succeed in the political world. With nothing to lose, he became a soldier. He went to war and met his soulmate: a 16 year old on the battlefield. Tom slaughtered them without thought, even though they were on the same side. His fellow soldiers never saw him the same way after that.

When the war ended, he continued on to the next, and the next, and the next.

By the time he had reached 28, he had already made a name for himself as Lord Voldemort, but he had yet to officially leave Tom Riddle behind.

Then the war against the French came.

Lord Voldemort walked in front of the British soldiers, and slaughtered every man that came his way. The unlucky few that had yet to find their soulmate were left on the battlefield to bleed. He knew nothing of mercy; he only knew of bloodshed. He did not stop until he was looking down on a mere child, who was terrified for its life, being caught on a battlefield that no child should ever see.

He stopped, and he looked, and he slit the child’s throat without a word.

* * *

 “And that’s the story of how Lord Voldemort fought his first war, and murdered his second soulmate.”

Harry looked at Marvolo, speechless. He opened his mouth to say something, only to close it again before repeating the motion. Who could possibly be so _cruel_? He could not imagine murdering anyone in cold blood like that.

“War is not pretty— I would think you knew that by now.” Marvolo said when the silence between them became prolonged.

“I can not imagine murdering anyone,” Harry confessed. “Especially not my soulmate, and _especially_ not for immortality. What is the point of living forever if you do it alone?”

“I think that the point is simply _living_.” Marvolo answered with a chuckle. “Oh well. I’ll see you next Thursday?”

“Yeah, as always. Do try to come up with a story that does not have to do with war next time.” Harry answered with a smile. Marvolo chuckled once more before walking past him towards the staircase. Harry returned to the books, which had been ignored in favor of listening to Marvolo’s story.

* * *

 Thursdays and war stories came and went, until one beautiful day in July where Harry found himself reclined on an armchair on the first floor, his legs thrown over the armrest and a plate with birthday cake balancing on his stomach.

“Getting a change of scenery?” Marvolo asked as he sat down on the armchair opposite Harry.

“It’s my birthday, so it’s my free day.” Harry answered, and stuck a spoon with cake on it in his mouth.

“Yet you hang out here.” Marvolo said, with obvious amusement.

“I didn’t want to miss your story.” Harry explained, talking around the spoon.

“I see. How old are you now, anyway? Twelve?”

“I’m 14!”

“Happy birthday, Harry.” Marvolo smiled pleasantly at him. “How about I let you choose today’s story?”

“Tell me about Voldemort’s seventh soulmate.”

“That story? Really? As you wish…”

* * *

 The Queen of the Faroe Islands had just turned 14 when Voldemort arrived at her castle, bearing a gift and a promise of peace against the nation. As the stories about him never described his looks, he was allowed a chaperoned meeting with the young queen after he had proven his identity as Tom Riddle.

Voldemort presented his gift - a priceless necklace - and proceeded to charm both chaperone and queen until they were at the point of falling at his feet. At this point, he needed not do much more but to suggest that the chaperone step out for a minute before he was left alone with the queen. He used their privacy to move closer to her, and placed a chaste kiss on her hand, as a suitor would.

“Allow me to put on the necklace.” he asked, and the queen agreed. The necklace was covered in dimethylmercury, which was absorbed into the queen’s skin, but did not go through Voldemort’s specially made gloves.

Voldemort left soon after, and the queen died from mercury poisoning less than a year later.

* * *

Harry sighed as the admittedly short story ended. There was no cake left on his plate; he ate it all through the rather gruesome story.

“I do not understand why you wanted such a tragic tale for your birthday.” Marvolo said.

“All your stories are sad,” Harry answered simply. “And I felt it fitting, with us both turning fourteen. Except I certainly won’t let anyone put any necklaces around my neck.”

“How clever,” Marvolo chuckled. “I shall remember to give you a gift next year.”

“You don’t have to.” Harry answered, an embarrassed blush on his cheek.

“But I want to.” Marvolo insisted with a smile.

* * *

 Once, while walking through the ancient ruins of the temple of Aphrodite, Voldemort wondered how many soulmates a man could have and how many lives he needed to take before the gods would give up on him. The ruins gave him no answer, and neither did the sky.

On that day, he swore to himself to continue hunting down all his soulmates before their 18th birthday to remain immortal for eternity. The gods were his only witness.

* * *

 Another year went by and, true to his word, Marvolo came bearing a gift the Thursday before Harry’s birthday.

“You’re already turning fifteen; time really does fly past.” Marvolo commented as he handed Harry the gift.

“How old are you?” Harry asked as he started opening the wrapped box. Marvolo didn’t answer, simply watched as he opened the gift to reveal a beautiful necklace. Harry looked up and raised an eyebrow at him.

“Do I dare put this on?” he asked, no trace of humor in his voice. Marvolo chuckled and lifted the necklace from the box, his hands bare from protection.

“Allow me.” he asked. Harry turned around and lifted his hair out of the way. The necklace settled nicely over his heart.

* * *

 Voldemort looked upon the American boy with distaste, twisting his lips into a grimace. So handsome, so charming… so close to 18. He had only himself to blame for not finding his soulmate sooner, but it was a difficult task when the birth date and place could be anywhere and at anytime. It was even harder when he spent his time winning wars for himself rather than searching after children.

At least he had not been too late. He had a month left to fulfill his task, a task which he had started by seducing the poor boy into his bed. There were only so many people you could bring to your bed when everyone were waiting for their soulmate.

The boy warmed his bed for three days, and on the third day Voldemort suffocated him with one of their pillows. Plain, perhaps, but effective. He would save something with more flare for the next time, if the gods still believed that there was someone for him in the world.

* * *

After Harry’s 15th birthday, Marvolo started to visit twice a week instead of just once. Thursdays were still meant for stories, but Sundays were meant for quiet moments and deep conversations.

“Do you think I’m your soulmate?” Harry asked while freeing a plant from dried leaves.

“I think that you are interesting,” Marvolo said, neither answering the question nor avoiding it.

“Why?”

“Do you remember when we first met?”

“I don't remember a Thursday that you haven't visited.” Harry told him.

* * *

During the last few years there had been a gang that occasionally disturbed Voldemort’s plans with their activities. He had finally tracked them down to an abandoned storefront in London. A few newspapers were littering the street in front of the store, some tracing back to as far as a fortnight ago. Voldemort gave them a disinterested glance; his eyes flickered to the headline of one avidly reporting the passing away of Fleamont Potter and the Potter fortune left to his son. The wind caught the newspapers, and they landed in a rain puddle. He quickly forgot about them to instead make sure that the syringes secured in a specially made belt around his waist were still filled with air. Then he kicked the door to the store open.

It happened rather quickly after that. Voldemort defended himself against the gang members with mixed martial arts as the syringes with air found themselves injected into the bloodstreams of their victims at the first opportunity. Soon they all dropped dead, leaving only Voldemort and a child that he had not noticed until now.

“Are they dead?” the child, who could not be older than 5, asked with a weak but unfaltering voice. Voldemort gave a nod in answer. It was a pleasant surprise to find his soulmate as a hostage of the gang he had just murdered; it gave him an opportunity to kill two birds with one stone.

“Are you going to kill me?” the child continued. Voldemort tilted his head a millimeter to the side at the lack of fear in the child’s voice. He could not remember the last time that someone knew what he were capable of yet still met him without fear.

“Not yet.” he decided.

The newspaper the next day told the story about young Harry Potter being dropped off at a police station, saved from his kidnappers. It was a Thursday.

* * *

Harry looked over his shoulder. He was on his way home from a friend’s place, and he had felt as if someone was following him since the last block. He could not see anyone, but he could still feel eyes on him. He’d rather not be mugged or anything when he would turn 18 and gain momentary immortality in only a week’s time.

A hand shot out of nowhere and gripped his neck. Harry reacted on instinct, he elbowed his attacker and kicked his foot back; aiming for the groin. He managed to get free and spun around only to be met with the sight of Marvolo.

“Why now?” he asked simply, with an expectant expression as he looked at the man that had been in his life every Thursday.

“I’m cutting it close.” Marvolo answered with an apologetic smile. Harry’s eyes widened slightly; Marvolo must be his soulmate. But if that was so, then…

“Voldemort?”

* * *

Voldemort ducked as Harry aimed a roundhouse kick at his head. He had tried and failed to murder his soulmate for almost a week now; time was running out. If he didn’t succeed today… He refused to think about it. Instead, he tackled Harry to the ground and readied himself to inject air into Harry’s blood stream. It was his favored technique outside of war as it made it harder to trace back to him, and there were something romantic about making their last meeting a continuation of their first.

Harry suddenly overpowered him and managed to roll them over so that Voldemort found himself with his back to the ground.

“This is tiresome,” Harry said. “I’m not going to die so that Voldemort can continue fighting in wars, Marvolo.”

“You’re mistaken,” Voldemort answered. “Marvolo was never the real persona; Marvolo was always the facade.”

Harry punched him in the face.

* * *

It was neither Thursday nor Sunday when Marvolo next visited Harry in the store.

“Happy birthday.” he said, and handed Harry a gift. Harry took it, albeit slowly and with a distrustful look on his face.

“I’ve already turned 18. If you try to murder me now you’ll still be mortal.”

“I know,” Marvolo answered, obviously irritated with the reminder. “Just open it.”

Carefully, Harry started to unwrap the gift. The wrapping paper revealed a box, much like the one he had received when he turned 15. He gave Marvolo - _Voldemort_ \- a doubtful glance, and then he opened it.

A heavy gold locket with a S inlaid with glittering green stones rested on a bed of fabric. Harry looked from the locket to Voldemort, the question clear in his eyes.

* * *

“It was my mother’s, once upon a time,” Voldemort explained. He felt awkward, sharing a story with Harry that had nothing to do with war or the murders of his past soulmates. “It’s the only thing I have left of her and the only thing from my past that I have to offer.”

“And you’re giving it to me.” It was not quite incredulous, Harry’s statement.

“It feels right that my soulmate is wearing something that belonged to me.” Voldemort said as he lifted the locket from its bed of fabric. Carefully, he lifted it over Harry’s head. The locket came to rest next to the necklace that he had given to Harry years prior.

* * *

Harry never asked why Voldemort had waited so long before trying to murder him. He was not sure if Voldemort would be able to answer if he did ask. Voldemort, in turn, never questioned Harry’s eerie acceptance of the situation.

It was not quite a happy ending, but it was something, and they had to make the best out of it.

**Author's Note:**

> Because of real life, I don't have as much pre-written as I want to. I'll try to do something about that as soon as possible (likely this weekend).
> 
> I do have almost all of the days planned, I'm only missing two as of right now.


End file.
